


Seasons (Waiting On You)

by Plants



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plants/pseuds/Plants
Summary: Since coming to study at Garreg Mach Claude has been plagued with dreams of a mysterious woman. As time goes on the dreams grow increasingly vivid and frequent until, one day, the same woman appears at the university as a new professor. But with tensions growing high between those in Fodlan who still follow the teachings of Seiros and those who do not, it seems like Claude will have little time to dedicate to unravelling the mystery of the relation between the real Byleth and the one he dreams of.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	1. Great Tree Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Three Houses denied us of the Byleth and Claude romance that we all deserved, and my quest to correct that through fan fiction has turned into a fully developed story line. Oops.

Tonight, Claude dreams of her. 

Its frequency has increased in these past months. When he first arrived at Garreg Mach the dreams had been nothing to write home about. They had been dispersed, which made them seem inconsequential, plaguing him only around once a month. He dreamt other dreams in between, but none were ever as vivid or recurring. 

Claude does not know whether _ recurring _is the right word for it. Each one has a different setting, the only true constant being her. The nameless woman, who never feels like a simple conjuring of his imagination; more like a distant memory. In his sleep he knows her well; they would take walks in the courtyard, eat meals together in the dining hall, stay up late studying various books in the library. When he awakes he is left with nothing more than a feeling of familiarity. 

In some ways, he hates these dreams. They are frustrating, said familiarity always being accompanied by strangeness. After a dream, for the majority of his day, Claude would get a knot in his stomach that tells him something is not quite right. He would push it away as best he could—his success measured by the fact that no one can ever tell he is bothered—and soon enough he would forget all about it.

Now, she no longer lets him forget. Visions of her visit him on a weekly basis. If he had any artistic ability he might try to paint her onto a canvas, her face sketched in his mind. Both her hair and her eyes are a dull blue, features round and soft, skin pale. She did not fit the traditional look of Fodlan women—of course not, she isn’t real, Claude reasons with himself. 

Tonight is the first time there are others involved in the dream. Usually it is just her and Claude, and as far as he is concerned they still might as well be. The other two are just blurs, beings in the vague shape of humans, doing nothing except hovering in the background. They are in a forest, surrounded by the remnants of a battle.

“Where does your allegiance lie?” Claude asks her.

“With the Alliance.” She answers. Inexplicably, Claude knows that means with him.

Claude awakens to sunlight trickling through the window of his dorm room. The warmth hits his face and he squints, eyes adjusting to the brightness. His dream is still fresh in his mind. He may be awake, but she is still staring him down, voice ringing in his ears. It is the first time he has heard her speak, the words running over and over in his mind. _ With the Alliance. _He cannot remember why the phrase is important, but it is. 

The usual knot of discomfort settles in his stomach. Claude rolls onto his side and takes a moment to consider how he will distract himself today. After a quick and careful consideration he decides to start the day right and hit the dining hall for some breakfast, and hopefully some semi-enticing conversation. It depends whose awake, really.

Claude is an early riser. A moment of silence, alone with nature, has always been the way he likes to start the day. The solitude is invigorating, the sunrise harbouring no judgement. The rest of Garreg Mach is a different matter. 

Today he has no will to stop and take in the simplicity of nature, appreciation clouded by the remnants of his dream. Claude heads straight for the dining hall, opting to begin the day with _ today’s special _. It is a choice without much forethought, which becomes obvious when he sits down and takes the first bite.

He is joined by the company of Marianne, who is adamant on keeping her gaze on her breakfast and answering questions with one syllable words. So far, not a great start, but there is always room for improvement. Claude tries to focus on his bad food judgement call instead of the lingering presence of her. 

Distraction becomes easier when Hilda saunters over to their table, taking a seat beside Marianne. Claude is thankful that there is someone else here to help try and break the silence.

“Good morning.” Hilda greets them in a singsong voice. Both Claude and Marianne mimic the greeting, one casually and the other quietly. 

The word _ awkward _does not apply to Hilda, who dissipates tension by just walking by it. She is equal parts sweet and smooth, her charm surpassing even Claude’s. He likes to argue that this is because she appears feminine and fragile (the latter being far from the truth), a trick that does not work if he tries to use it.

“The new professor starts today,” Hilda comments.

“That she does. You’ll have the pleasure of meeting her tomorrow,” Claude tells her.

“Class is much too formal to meet someone properly. Although, I did hear the professor is around our age. Hopefully that means she won’t be as prude as the last.”

“If by less prude you mean more lenient than I have my doubts about that.” Claude winks at her.

“Maybe I do.” Her expression remains even, voice playful. “Either way, it will be nice to have someone fresh instructing us, don’t you think, Marianne?” 

“Oh, um, I guess so…”

Many rumours have been circulating about the new professor. No one knows exactly who she is, where she is coming from, and how she landed a position teaching at the most esteemed university in Fodlan at such a young age. Claude has heard that Seteth eagerly jumped on the chance to have her as a teacher, although it is hard to imagine him doing such a thing. 

In honor of long standing tradition, classes are predominantly arranged by loyalties. Garreg Mach likes to pretend it is diverse, harbouring the top students from Fodlan and beyond; but just like the continent it resides in, it values its separatism. Students from the Leicester Alliance share classes with only each other, and so on and so forth.

There are exceptions, like Claude, who hails from Almyra. It borders Alliance territories, thus their relations are the best, which in return makes him best suited to join their region—studiously, at least.

The allegiance of the faculty is a different matter. Although the new mysterious professor would be teaching Alliance classes, it does not necessarily mean that is where her loyalties lie. Staff members are encouraged to remain impartial, as the classes they teach often change year by year, and their duties include supporting students from all nations. 

As a student liaison, Claude will be getting a sneak preview of their new teacher before the rest of his peers. “I have to get going. I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

“Take me with you. I want to see what I’ll be getting myself into this year,” Hilda says, tone somewhere between joking and serious. Claude isn’t entirely sure which it is meant to be. He doesn’t mind though, he likes when she makes him work. 

“No can do,” he tells her with a shake of his head. “This is a private engagement.”

“How devious.”

Claude laughs, the sound carrying with him as he gets up to go put away his dirty tray.

❦

There is a large chunk of time between Claude arriving at the classroom and his actual meeting with the professor. It is the perfect excuse to have a moment alone, his earliness warranting some time to himself. With nothing but his own company he finds the bizarre feeling given to him from his dream resurfacing. Claude blocks it out by browsing the bookshelves, all of the titles covered in dust. 

It is apparent these materials are nowhere close to having been recently updated. The books are random and completely outdated, the majority of them having no real connection to what will be studied in this very room. There are some on relics, now nothing more than legends; studies on crests, which are just beautiful designs for nobles to stitch on their breasts and paint on their shields; stories of Seiros and maps of battlefields. 

Claude picks one at random, bringing it out to the courtyard with him. An absent read to help him pass the time until the professor’s arrival. He chooses a spot that is shaded by a nearby tree, perched on the edge of a bench. He flips through the history book, skimming over snippets of text.

_ There are twelve known hero relics, gifted by Saint Seiros to her sworn protectors. The knights of Seiros are said to have had magical bonds with their weapons, their immense power unable to be harnessed by any ordinary soldier. Those who tried to use them without blessing were turned into horrific beasts, a curse inflicted by the goddess herself… _

Claude skims a few more pages.

_ …With the passing of each knight their weapons were buried with them. As their bodies decomposed so did their blades, the powers gifted by Saint Seiros lost to the world forever. _

As Claude reads this, something seems out of place. Perhaps something else he has read contradicts this book because, for some reason, its tellings are wrong to him. In Almyra the goddess is not worshipped, and few of the Alliance territories still followed her teachings. So where could he have possibly heard anything different than this? 

This thought is put on the back burner. From his peripheral vision he sees someone entering the professor’s classroom—presumably the professor herself. Claude does not get a good look at her, covered neck to feet by a cape that ripples behind her as she walks. He closes the book and follows her into the room, careful not to disturb her until he really wants to. 

She still has her back turned to him when he walks in. She is inspecting the space, eyeing the table, chairs and shelves, remaining undisturbed as Claude puts _ The Origins of Heroes Relics _on a nearby surface.

“Hey teach, you’re right on time.”

She turns around and Claude chokes on the words he has yet to say, because it’s _ her _— the woman from his dreams. Briefly, he forgets to breathe. When he remembers he coughs, lungs burning. To compensate for his fumble, he stands up straight and wipes the look of utter surprise off of his face. She may be talking to him right now, her lips are moving but Claude cannot hear it. He ignores it, skipping by the pleasantries. 

“Do you have a name?” He is desperate to know.

“Byleth.”

Byleth is unphased by Claude’s behaviour. A good thing for him, really. He is trying to study her, to understand what she is thinking, only to find nothing. In fact, her eyes are completely vacant of emotion, revealing nothing whatsoever. He blames the fact that her very existence has thrown him off the mark, too flustered to be as critical as he usually is. Claude wants to ask her outright if she recognises him too. Of course, he doesn’t.

Instead he collects himself, painting on an easy smile and carefree attitude. “I’ll stick with calling you Teach, for now. It’s nice to put a name to the face though. I’m Claude.” 

“I know.”

Does she know, or does she know _ know _? What that even means, Claude isn’t sure. He is grasping for something that is most likely not there, he knows this, he just needs some time to collect himself. The knot is resurfacing in the pit of his stomach, the pressure stronger than before, eating away at his focus. 

Claude rubs the back of his neck. “Seteth already gave you the rundown then.”

Byleth nods.

“Have you been shown around Garreg Mach yet? I can give you a tour if you’d like.” 

“No. I have to prepare for the beginning of classes.” Her response is instantaneous. The latter part of sounds more like an excuse than an explanation, tacked on to let Claude down lightly. 

“Suit yourself. If you need help finding anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Claude. I don’t want to take up your free time. Let’s meet tomorrow after class, and continue from there on a weekly basis.” 

“Sounds good.” Claude spins on his heel and lifts a hand. “I’ll see you later then, Teach.”

In an instant he drops his smile. It is too much to keep up his facade, unable to act at leisure when he is trying to process what just happened. He is floating somewhere between reality and his imagination, only one thought present in his mind— _ is this another dream? _

The day is far from over, but Claude does not feel compelled to take advantage of his last day before classes start. He leaves the university grounds to spend time alone, wondering how many drinks it will take to forget about Byleth. Too many, probably. No matter what he does he will be seeing her soon, whether it be in his dreams tonight or reality tomorrow. 

❦

Byleth is waiting for him in the great hall. She studies Claude as he approaches, making no secret of it. 

“We meet again,” he greets. She smiles. “So you decided to go with the Golden Deer house. A good choice, obviously, maybe a bit of a handful to start.”

“I don’t think you’ll be too much trouble.” Byleth is quick with her retort. Her voice is calm. It’s her smile that lets Claude know she is joking. 

“Me? I’m as innocent as they come. I was talking about the rest of the class.”

Byleth lets out a breath. Claude supposes that’s her version of a laugh.

“Come on. I’ll bring you down to the classroom to meet everybody.”

Last nights dream continues to reel in Claude’s mind as he goes about his day, remembering it over and over again, word by word. He skips breakfast, daydreams through his morning classes, and halfheartedly picks at his lunch. 

“I’m worried about you,” Raphael says, watching him stir around his food. 

“Don’t worry about me, I just don’t have much of an appetite today.” 

“If you don’t eat you won’t have any energy!” 

“I’ll eat double tomorrow to make up for it.”

That logic suffices for Raphael, who ends up eating the rest of Claude’s lunch. 

They walk to class together, accompanied by Ignatz as well. The course is a history of Fodlan, necessary for all students to take, regardless of what their main field of study is. After that Ignatz will leave, it’s his last class for the day, whereas Claude and Raphael will need to stay and attend the next class held. That one focuses on battle tactics and strategies, also taught by Byleth. Claude is no longer thinking about the one from last nights dream, substituted by thoughts of the real one. 

It is much easier to shamelessly gawk at Byleth when it is under the guise that he is intently focused on her lecture. Claude follows her every movement, listening to her body language rather than her words. On any other day he would be interested in hearing about Fodlans rich antiquity, but as of now, Byleth’s existence trumps it. 

“You know, Claude, it’s impolite to stare.” Hilda gives his leg a soft kick.

He glances sideways at her. “It’s also impolite to talk during a lecture. Some of us are trying to focus.”

Hilda huffs and the subject is dropped. Without a doubt, she will bring this up later, hopefully in private. He does not need a rumour circulating that he is smitten with the new professor. 

The history lesson ends, some students leave, and tactics begin. Claude is still not listening. By the end of it he does not remember one thing of substance that was taught. The majority of the students have something to share with their new professor. It starts out as a line, then becomes a small crowd, the students storming her with questions, anecdotes and introductions. She speaks with all of them, the conversations being more like a seminar than one-on-one interactions. Claude skips out on it.

He waits outside the classroom entrance, arms crossed, leaning up against the wall. Classmates pass by and he bids them all farewell to all of them. Hilda and Raphael walk out together. Raphael tells him to meet them in the dining hall later and that he should eat a big dinner since he skipped lunch. Hilda gives him a knowing look. Claude tells them maybe he will.

Byleth is the last to walk out, waving a student goodbye before turning to face Claude. “I thought you might have left.”

“Is that really the impression I gave you yesterday? If so, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “That was an unfair assumption on my part. Talking to the students took longer than I thought.”

“That’s okay. How about we sit?” 

They take a seat on the same bench Claude has been waiting at yesterday. Byleth sits with her back straight, one leg crossed over the other, hands clasping her top knee. She is looking out at the courtyard, eyes slowly sweeping over the scenery. It gives Claude a moment to study her up close. There is no mistaking Byleth is the same as _ her _, just with different coloured hair and eyes. A light green, like the colour of seafoam, rather than the deep blue he is used to. She looks towards him and they make eye contact. Claude smiles.

“How was the first day of classes?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Byleth quips. “It was good. And different.”

He decides not to ask what she means by that. Most likely different from the life she had been living before coming to Garreg Mach. 

“I’d like you to tell me more about your classmates and what they’re like outside their studies.”

“No can do, teach. There’s not much to tell that wouldn’t be superficial. You should spend some time with them so you can see for yourself.”

Byleth does not like that idea. Her shoulders tense and she purses her lips, briefly breaking eye contact. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would be unprofessional.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in the clear. I don’t know what it’s like in other places, but here the professors are encouraged to create strong bonds with the students. It builds morale.” Claude is met with silence. “Why don’t you come have dinner with me and some others? It’s a good way to test the waters.” 

Byleth reluctantly agrees. During their walk they make idle conversation about classes, the architecture of the university, and what the special is for dinner tonight. This time Claude opts for a simple meal of some fish and rice, Byleth choosing close to the same thing. Claude flags down where Raphael and Hilda are sitting, the two halting their conversation as they are joined.

“Alright, you made it! And the professor too.” Raphael claps his hands together.

The four of them pass around introductions, as the setting is a little more casual than the classroom, before settling into conversation. Raphael tries asking Byleth some questions about her background, which are deflected nicely, in Claude’s opinion. She answers curtly and manages to turn the conversation back to him, making him do most of the talking. Byleth does not say much by the end of the meal, Claude is watching her intently, Hilda is silently noting Claude’s behaviour, and Raphael is just pleased by good company.

The four of them part ways for the evening, however Hilda circles back around to nag Claude about his behaviour. “So what exactly happened yesterday between you and the professor yesterday? You haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of her all day.”

“It’s not what you think, Hilda. She just looks familiar and I can’t place my finger on it, that’s all.”

Hilda goes quiet for a time, her steps slowing. “Huh. I guess she does.”


	2. Harpstring Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude does some good oid fashioned detective work.

Claude has decided he does not like Byleth. It is an unfair judgement seeing as there is no real reason behind it. What has ignited this grudge is the ridiculous expectation that she will be the same as the woman he dreams of, now on a constant basis.

The Byleth he sees in his sleep is calm and carefree. She is the genuine embodiment of a facade Claude puts on every day. She smiles and laughs and is, somehow, blissfully ignorant to the workings of the world. At night, when she greets him, it feels like spending time with an old friend, going through the motions of something he has done before, yet only has a vague memory of.

The Byleth he speaks to in his waking hours is the complete opposite. She is calm, but in a frigid sort of way. It is like she has no desire to engage with Claude, only doing so because she has no say in the matter.

As a teacher, she is brilliant. Only during her lessons does Byleth have the capability of showing emotion. She is passionate when explaining stories, theories and facts. Her lectures are accompanied by exaggerated movements, she answers questions with enthusiasm, and dedicates a generous amount of time to each of her students during after class hours. Watching her teach mesmerizes Claude for reasons that cannot be shaped into coherent thoughts.

Byleth’s behaviour during their after class sessions is a different matter. They continue to meet after class on the second day of each week, usually to discuss trivial matters. The semester is still settling into a regular pattern, and Byleth seems to still be adjusting to life at Garreg Mach, which means there has been little focus on planning events for the Alliance students.

Over the past month Byleth will meet with Claude only briefly, avoid talking about anything that is not school related, and be on her way when it’s all over. Perhaps Claude would not take this so personally had he not been spending his nights with a considerably nicer version of his professor.

“Is it just me or do you find the professor to be a bit sour?” He asks Hilda one night while they laze around the rooftop yard, gazing at the stars.

“Not particularly. But I don’t see her much outside of class.”

Claude can’t argue with that. After the first day of class, where he insisted Byleth join them for dinner, she has been keeping her distance— and not just from the students, it’s from the other professors too. In the rare times Claude sees her around the university she is alone, as if making an effort to steer clear of every other person around.

“Maybe she’s having a hard time adjusting,” Hilda offers.

“Well, she isn’t making it easier for herself either, that’s for sure.”

Hilda shoots him a look like he is the bad guy here. Admittedly, Claude is showing more frustration than he should have given the situation. To Hilda, it may very well just look like Claude is defensive. The times where he cannot break through people’s outer shells are quite rare, she knows this. However, it is the dreams that really make things so discouraging.

“I’m trying, Hilda. But she acts like she wants nothing to do with me. Or anyone for that matter.”

“So she likes her alone time. Is that really so bad?”

“If she’s having a hard time settling in, yes.”

Hilda narrows her eyes, staring Claude down. “Why do you care so much anyways?” You know, you could just leave her to mope around on her own.”

“I have a tender heart.”

Hilda laughs. Claude knows he does not have her convinced. Nonetheless she lets it go, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. “I think it’s time for me to retire for the night.”

“Don’t go.” There is an implication in his words, a desperation that cannot be sensed by anyone other than himself.

He does not want to be alone with his own thoughts, nor does he feel like going to sleep, despite his fatigue. The dreams that used to be nothing more than peculiar instances now bother him constantly. He longs for the days where Byleth would only come to him once a month. Now he cannot escape her, no matter what.

❦

Byleth looks at the statues in awe. It’s as if she has never heard of the four saints before. It is easier to believe that it is carved stone she has never seen; after all, one cannot live in Fodlan without being fed stories of Seiros and her saints. Claude supposes the life of a mercenary is more unique than people think.

“There’s a lot you don’t know for being a professor.”

“Jeralt isn’t religious,” Byleth explains, still staring at the statue of Saint Macuil.

Claude looks around, making sure there is no one nearby. It is ill to proclaim beliefs that oppose the church, especially in Garreg Mach. “Huh, I would’ve guessed the opposite considering how many years he was in the church’s service.”

Byleth shrugs. “That never came up either. He never liked to talk about the past.”

“I don’t think many people do.”

The past. This past month Claude has not been able to coax any personal information out of Byleth. She will not tell him her favourite colour, let alone what her life was like before coming to Garreg Mach. All Claude wants are some clues, to try and gather some information that can help orientate him. He wants some peace of mind, hoping it will help subdue the dreams, which are starting to cause restless nights.

Claude usually goes out of his way to avoid Seteth rather than seek him out, finding their interactions to be the perfect amount. However, if anyone has knowledge of Byleth’s past it is him. It’s just a matter of getting the information out of him. Claude wonders which is more suspicious; asking Seteth or Byleth all his invasive questions.

The morning sermon has just ended. The majority of people are leaving the church to go about the rest of the day, Claude weaving through the crowd to enter the space. He finds Seteth at the front of the cathedral, near the large centerpiece. It is a statue of Saint Seiros, surrounded by dozens of candles.

Seteth is putting them out one by one. He hears Claude approaching and his eyes go wide, both shocked and surprised to see him here. “Claude! Have you come to offer your prayers to the goddess?”

“Something like that,” Claude says, stretching his arms above his head. “But then I saw you and thought I’d stop by to say hello.”

“Just as well,” Seteh says, continuing to smother flame after flame. “I hope you’re settling into the new semester?”

“I am. Here’s the thing. I was hoping you could tell me a bit about Byleth.”

Seteth stops what he is doing to look at Claude, face lit up with happiness. “I must say, I never thought a day would come where you showed interest in the history of our school.”

Instantly, Claude finds himself lost. He is not sure how these two topics relate and he is not about to ask. Seteth looks absolutely thrilled to be talking about this, making things exponentially easier for Claude, who goes along with it. He does his best to match Seteth’s enthusiasm, overexaggerating a grin and the eagerness in his voice.

“Yet here we are. I guess you could say I’m turning a new leaf.”

“Not many people are aware that before founding this university Byleth had been an archbishop to the church of Seiros. She did not feel is necessary to have any memorial erected in her honour. However, she gave up the position to oversee the success of the school. Perhaps if she had not, the church would hold more power than it does today.”

So Seteth is talking about a completely different Byleth. Claude isn’t entirely disappointed. It is not uncommon for families who devote themselves to Seiros to name their children after prominent members of the church.”

“Huh, so the new professor was named after her then. She must be just as religious as you.”

Seteth frowns. “Not quite. It seems she has forgotten her roots.”

A woman named after an almost forgotten religious figure, who does not believe in the goddess. The upbringing may explain her history knowledge. How she became a master tactician or wound up teaching here in the first place are different matters.”

“Where did you find her, anyways?”

“One of our professors met her during a trip to Almyra. She accompanied them back simply to see the university, however after meeting her it felt correct to offer her a position teaching here.”

Almyra. Combat is certainly ingrained in the culture and tradition, however there is little tact involved. Byleth is clearly not Almyran, her time spent there only doing more to intrigue Claude.

“I’m sure you and her have a lot to talk about,” Seteth continues.

“You’d think so.”

❦

Claude makes a pit stop at the library to see if he can find anything worthwhile on Archbishop Byleth. He does not know exactly what he is looking for, but he has wrung Seteth out of all information, which was not much in the end.

So far the story goes that Byleth comes from a highly religious family, abandoned her faith, and travelled abroad to Almyra before being recruited as a professor. The timeline is hazy and the story is not fully supported by facts. At least it’s a start.

“Claude? In the library? What a rare occasion!”

Lorenz and Marianne are sitting near the back of the library, surrounded by several books. As Claude approaches Marianne keeps her face buried in what she is reading, too immersed to take her surroundings into consideration. Lorenz on the other hand is pleased to have a distraction, shutting the book that he had just been skimming through.

“And aren’t you lucky to see it.” Claude clasps a hand on Lorenz’s shoulder, leaning over him to see what he has been reading. “Homework?”

“Of sorts, yes. Marianne and I thought we would do some preparation for the upcoming peace talks. It is the perfect way to demonstrate our knowledge and value to our predecessors.”

Generally, peace talks mean there is war. However, this time instead of inciting needless bloodshed first, these negotiations are meant to avoid it. Representatives from all prominent houses will be attending, as well as church leaders. As heirs to said prominent leaders Lorenz, Marianne and Claude will all be attending from the sidelines, along with many other classmates.

“Not a bad idea,” Claude tells him, looking over their literature of choice. It includes history from several regions of Fodlan, books analyzing the churches influences on Fodlan today, and a few older looking titles on diplomatic etiquette.

“If this is not what you’re here for, Claude, then why are you here?”

“To do some reading on Byleth.”

“Our professor?” Lorenz asks, making the same mistake as Claude.

“No the founder of the university— and a former archbishop of Seiros.”

Even Marianne looks up in surprise, both of them as equally in the dark as Claude had been an hour ago.

“Hm… to think I had never known who founded the university before now,” Lorenz muses.

“I guess it makes sense…” Marianne says quietly. “For an archbishop who served at Garreg Mach to be the founder.”

Lorenz nods. “It is certainly linear.”

Claude leaves them to their research to do his own. He does not want to so much as think about the peace talks until he is forced to. The sway of things relies heavily on the alliance, and if it does come to war it means Almyra will be involved as well.

The Holy Kingdom of Fearghus holds close relations with the church, and the Empire does not, putting the Alliance at the center. So far, the attempts to win Claude’s favour have been less than subtle. Both Dimitri and Edelgard have been battling for his affections, trying their best to be sly, and failing quite miserably. It has become fun, stringing them on and watching them butt heads. A fleeting entertainment considering Claude will soon have to take this seriously.

Having Marianne and Lorenz studying behind him is like having a grim reminder perched on his shoulder. Distraction can dull it, but it still won’t leave. Some distraction it turns out to be too. There is hardly anything worthwhile on the Archbishop Byleth. It is all casual mentions and speculations, no text devoted to her and only her.

It doesn’t make sense. This woman was both a figure of faith and a scholar, yet the library in the halls she founded contains no literature on her trivialities and triumphs. Claude will have to go back to Byleth with his own speculations and see if anything adds up.

❦

In between classes and on the weekends Byleth disappears. She flits around the university like a ghost, suddenly vanishing from one place to mysteriously appear in another. Claude figures his goading will have to wait until their regularly scheduled meetup. What a shame.

He invites Hilda into town with him, which she flat out rejects, saying she has better ways to spend her time than drinking watered down ale in some swanky establishment. Claude goes regardless, thinking he will make the best of his own company. That, or find someone entertaining enough to spend his evening with.

Claude chooses the most run down bar he knows so he won’t chance running into anyone else from the university. He isn’t dressed like a student from Garreg Mach, nor does he match the attire for a back alley bar, residing somewhere between the two. No one cares when he enters, ordering himself a mug of ale and scoping out the crowd while he waits for it.

There, like a beacon of light through the town drunks, is Byleth. She sits alone near the end of the bar, staring into her cup. Claude takes it upon himself to join her.

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a place like this?” Claude says, taking a seat beside her. Byleth looks up, expressionless. “Jeez Teach, ever hear of a joke?”

“Yes, it’s just that wasn’t funny.”

“I beg to differ. But seriously, tell me, what are you doing here?”

She lifts her tankard in response. Claude lifts his as well, hitting it lightly against hers in a cheer, then takes a swig. He knows he wants to confront her about her origins, he just does not know where to start. Initiating conversation with Byleth has proven to be difficult. Claude does not want to be rejected before he can even start. This results in the two of them sitting in silence.

Behind them there is a bench full of mercenaries enjoying a drink. Byleth is eyeing them, so Claude does too, listening in on their conversation.

“Probably not. All of them nobles will be bringing their own guard, and for any dirty work they’ll be hiring people with far less morals than us,” one of the men says. Their is a collective laugh from the table.

“What do you think?” Byleth turns back to Claude.

“What do I think,” he repeats slowly, processing the question, mostly enticed by the idea of Byleth initiating a chat.

“About the peace talks.”

Oh. This is not Claude’s first choice for a topic. He’ll have to make due. “I think people should be able to have a choice in what they believe. What good is faith if it’s forced upon people?”

“I agree.” Byleth nods. “You’re from Almyra, correct? They don’t care for the goddess there.”

“Some do. It carried over when Fodlan’s Locket came down. But you’re right, for the most part no one cares for the church’s doctrine.” This is the perfect opportunity, Claude thinks. “Say, I heard you spent some time there before coming to Garreg Mach.”

“That’s right.”

“What were you doing over there?”

“I was a mercenary before starting here as a professor. Work was plenty there.”

Claude cannot help but laugh. “Wow, a history buff mercenary turned professor. You must have really impressed Seteth.”

Byleth says nothing.

“So, as a conosseur of Fodlan’s history, what do you think is the best way for these talks to go?”

“Nothing good has come out of having the church in power. Times are changing, people are adapting and learning… Seiros needs to understand that.”

Byleth speaks of Seiros like she is personally accountable for the church’s current state of affairs. Claude supposes that is not entirely wrong; the archbishop would not be pushing this hard for the combining of church and state if Seiros had not existed in the first place.

Claude places an elbow on the bar and cups his cheek in his hand, staring intently at Byleth. In his other hand is his ale, which he has not paid any attention to since the beginning of their conversation.

“You’re not religious then,” Claude muses, leaning a little closer. “That’s refreshing. Seteth seems to only enlist professors who also happen to worship the goddess. Has it been hard settling in.”

“Claude,” Byleth says, voice firm. It reflects in her face, features hardened, brows furrowed. The first emotion she shows him, and it has to be anger. “We’re not friends, and we’re not going to be. I can support you as your teacher, but that’s it.”

“I was just—”

Byleth does not give him a chance to explain himself. She leaves her cup half full, sliding off the barstool to weave through the crowd and out of the bar. Claude sighs, finishing off his own drink by himself, trying to figure out where he went wrong.


End file.
